


The Sandbox

by Gaslight Dreamer (wyntirrose)



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-24 16:36:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17707844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntirrose/pseuds/Gaslight%20Dreamer
Summary: This is a collection of prompts of various sorts. They are works that don't belong anywhere else and may or may not have a connection to any other fics. Rating subject to change without notice.





	1. The Gift - Smokescreen

**The Gift**  
Summary: Smokescreen gets a present that was intended for Bluestreak  
 **Prompt:** A well intended and specially chosen gift gets sent to the wrong character by mistake - with interesting consequences

Smokescreen sat down on the edge of his berth as his knees threatened to give out under him. The box in his hands was small and beautifully wrapped and the gift inside was nestled with the greatest of care. Praxian crystals glowing blue and green and yellow - just like the ones that used to grow in the High Park in the centre of Praxus. Someone had figured out how to grow them, how to harvest them, and how to prepare them. And then Smokescreen felt his spark clench as he saw the note nestled in within the folds of the wrapping.

“Dearest Bluestreak,” it read.

Smokescreen offlined his optics and swallowed hard. This wasn’t the first time something had been left at his door instead of Bluestreak’s across the hall. And it wouldn’t be the last time either. It didn’t meant that it didn’t hurt. It hurt like slag, especially when the gift was this thoughtful. This perfect.

“Nothing to be done about it,” he whispered to himself as he carefully repacked the gift. “Hey, Teletraan? Can you tell me where Bluestreak is right now?”

“I can,” the base’s computer said wryly.

“Smart aft,” Smokescreen replied with a small chuckle. “Seriously though, where is he? Something was dropped off for me when it should have gone to him. I want to make sure it ends up where it’s supposed to go.”

“He is currently in the mess hall,” Teletraan replied.

“Thanks, T!” Smokescreen waved at the nearest camera as he left his quarters, slight smile carefully placed on his face.

He had mastered that smile over vorns. Everything was fine. Life was great. There was nothing to worry about. He was everyone’s friend and there was nothing else going on at all. It had gotten to the point that he was almost able to fool himself with it.

Bluestreak was in the mess hall, just as Teletraan had said he would be, sitting at a table across from Prowl. The two Praxians speaking in low voices as they leaned over a box that looked identical to the one in Smokescreen’s hands.

“Hey, Blue!” Smokescreen said cheerily, ensuring that his smile was expressed in his optics and his doors. “This was dropped off at my door instead of yours. You’ll have to excuse me, but the note was on the inside.”

“Oh wow!” Bluestreak exclaimed as he took the box and opened it revealing the Praxian crystals. Identical to the ones in Prowl’s box.

The look of pure joy on Bluestreak’s face washed the hurt from Smokescreen’s spark. The kid was barely old enough to remember the Crystal Gardens and the songs they made when the wind brushed past the carefully manicured branches. He couldn’t begrudge Blue this happiness. He smiled and patted Bluestreak on the shoulder.

“I’m glad to see that you like it, Blue,” he said. “Someone clearly put a lot of thought into it.”

With that Smokescreen headed off to grab his daily ration.


	2. The Choice - Orion Pax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orion Pax finds the Matrix and is offered a choice he cannot refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by a prompt from ages back on 31_Days (December 2015). The prompt was: "That blinding explosion that left you crackling to the fingertips with electricity, initiated and transformed". I started it  
> with only the vaguest idea of where I was going and then quickly found myself mired in some major writer's block. Thankfully I kept the initial draft because I've finally been able to finish it.

It wasn't supposed to have been this way. Yes, Sentinel needed to be replaced. The whole Council _needed_ to be replaced, but Orion had had no idea just how deep the corruption went and for just how long they had all been living with it. Who could have possibly known that Zeta and Sentinel and Nominus had not been Prime at all, had not carried the Matrix within their chassis? Who could have known just how far the lie stretched? Megatron had been right. They had all been deceived.

Orion Pax barely managed to remain upright as he stared at the ancient relic. The Autobot Matrix of Leadership. The Creation Matrix. The Matrix of Light. It was the core of the Cybertronian people. _**His**_ people if he listened to the device and did as he was bade. The Matrix wanted him. It wanted a lowly data clerk with no ambitions of leadership to rise up and become the religious leader of the Children of Primus. Could he really do this?

" _You will be judged,_ " a voice said in his mind, and he knew the voice was that of Novus, and Prima, and Solus, and Solomus, and Primus. He had no idea how he knew, but he knew. " _It is now written. You will be judged._ "

"I'm not ready for this," Orion murmured. "I will _never_ be ready for this."

" _It is not your choice to make,_ " the voices in the Matrix returned. " _It is now written and it will now be. You **will** be judged._"

His hand, as if with a mind of its own, reached out and took hold of the Matrix casing and instantly Orion was subsumed. Electrical fire coursed through him, filling every inch of his being with blinding pain. He was everywhere and nowhere all at once. Solomus, God of Wisdom, was forcing him to see through new optics. No, not new. _Other_ optics.

He felt the desperate hunger of the empties. He felt their shame as they were forced to cannibalize their dead so that they and their younglings could survive. He felt their desperation as they turned to syk and other stimulants in a pathetic attempt to escape their lives, even if it was just for a moment. They were scared and hungry and above all that, they were angry. They had been betrayed. For countless millennia they had been ignored and trod upon by the aristocracy and the Council and the Prime himself. There had never been a golden age for these mechs. For them there had never been anything but pain and degradation.

And there was fear. Not from the Empties, though they certainly knew it. No, this was a different fear. This was the fear of discovery. This was the constant state of being for those mechs who had survived their mass recalls. The laser pointers and the data slugs and the beasts and all the other so-called Disposable Classes. They were all so afraid of being recalled that they never asked for more than they were given. Yes, they were better off than the Empties - at least they were routinely refuelled - but every single day they had to fear recall. They were just waiting for that sharp pain in the back of their head that would be the only warning that their obsolescence chip had been activated.

He felt the hysteria and undying boredom of the Towers as the residents spun and danced and interfaced, desperately trying to ignore the horrors that were surrounding them. They all knew that they were to blame, even if it was simply blame earned through inaction. They never questioned where their fuel came from. What price had been paid for their luxuries. They were just as trapped as everyone else on Cybertron, but unlike the others, they had built the gilded cage they resided in.

And then there was something else. Another feeling above and within and beneath the others. Or perhaps feeling was the wrong word. It was a total lack of feeling. A complete lack of empathy. Only cold hard logic. The minds he was touching were both many and yet not. They had one goal. One mission. One all encompassing desire. They wanted conformity. Only through complete and total submission to their singular vision could perfection be achieved. And if they needed to destroy everyone and everything they would. They could start again if needed. They were nothing if not patient. Everyone would have their place. They would all be cogs in the whole, each moving in the same direction, lockstep with each other and with this one overpowering mind that was manipulating it all.

“ _And what will you do?_ ” the voices asked. “ _Will you follow and survive or will you fight back and be destroyed?_ ”

Pain lanced through Orion’s mind and spark. He was being ripped apart from the inside. Rewritten. Recoded. Rebuilt. He was no longer Orion Pax. But the Matrix had not yet finished its trials over him. Primus had not yet rendered its judgement.

“ _Choose._ ” The word echoed in his mind again and again as if spoken by a million voices all at once. “ _Make. Your. Choice._ ”

Faces and names flooded his processor. He saw all of his people in his mind. Every Cybertronian who had ever been and every one who existed now. They were in pain. They were lost. They needed someone to step up and lead them. They needed someone to show them the truth.

“I’m not a leader. I’m just a data clerk. This shouldn’t be me! Megatron is the one who should be leading the people! Or Senator Shockwave! Anyone but me!”

“ _That is not a choice. Make your choice or We will make it for you._ ” 

The voice was cold and hard. There was no sympathy there. This question was a binary one. It would accept no hesitation. Yes or no. There could be no maybe. No doubt. Either he accepted this call or he didn’t. If he didn’t then the Matrix would move on. It would chose another. It would keep searching until it found the One it was looking for. And in that time who could tell what damage would be wrought, how many more would suffer because he refused to make a decision. Could he really leave his people to starve and suffer and die when he could make a difference? … And when had he decided that the people of Cybertron were his?

“ _The choice is made._ ” The voice sounded pleased and gentle for the first time. Like a proud creator. “ _Arise. Optimus Prime._ ”


	3. Role Play - Sunstreaker/Prowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunstreaker is bored and has decided to make it Prowl's problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going through my Google Docs folders and found this little ficlet written way back in 2016. I know that it was in response to a prompt of some sort but I can't for the life of me remember which prompt for which community.

“I’m bored,” Sunstreaker said as he entered Prowl’s office, locking the door behind him.

“And?” Prowl replied, never looking up from his monitor.

“And I’m bored. Does there need to me more than that?”

Sunstreaker sat down heavily in the chair across from Prowl and immediately put his feet up on the desk, knowing that it would annoy the Praxian.

“Then go do something. Bother your twin,” Prowl replied, not looking up, refusing to rise to the bait, and yet not ordering Sunstreaker out.

Sunstreaker pulled a box of energon goodies out of his subspace pocket, popping one in his mouth and tossing the box onto the desk for Prowl.

“Sides is out on patrol and the Hatchet’s refusing to clear me for duty,” Sunstreaker growled around the goody.

Prowl finally turned away from his monitor and looked at Sunstreaker, folding his hands in front of him on the desk.

“And what do you want me to do about that, Sunstreaker?” he asked, dispassionately.

Sunstreaker’s smile was predatory as he pulled his feet off the desk and leaned forward.

“I want a second opinion.”

A ghost of a smile pulled at Prowl’s lips. “I do believe that either First Aid or Hoist could help you. And I seem to recall that both Swoop and Skydive are progressing in their studies and could use the experience. Perhaps you could speak with one of them.”

Sunstreaker’s optics narrowed slightly. “I doubt that they’ll give me what I want. Now, am I going to get that second opinion or not? _Doc?_ ”

Prowl turned off his monitor and put away his data pads before turning back to Sunstreaker. Yes, he was busy, but he could make time if he restructured the rest of his day. And if he was being honest with himself, he did enjoy these diversions with this volatile twin.

“I suppose I could take a look at the problem,” Prowl said with a smile as he stood and came around the table to straddle Sunstreaker’s lap. “Now, why don’t you show me _exactly_ where it hurts, so I can do a _thorough_ examination.”


End file.
